Then There Was One
by Roxie Zephyr Jocelyn
Summary: WARNING: Spoilers for the series up to the season finale of Season 6. Post 6.22. It was the last soul that Castiel would ever consume; it was a soul he knew. Just an experimental look at Castiel's rescue and redemption.


A/N: The fascinating characters of Supernatural do not belong to me, but to their esteemed creators. Spoilers for the series until the season finale of Season 6. Post 6x22. The words 'god' and 'lord' have been deliberately written without the use of capitals because it is something I feel uncomfortable about.

Then There Was One

Contrary to what everyone believed, souls weren't just luminous sources of energy. They were, after all, souls. For every soul there were memories; some of a past buried so deep that it flickered past the mind in sepia images while others, more present memories, were bright, blinding, burning into the mind's eye as they seared their way into oblivion.

That was why Castiel had been corrupted; why his pure intentions had been tainted. He had absorbed souls from Purgatory, and along with them came the fires of Hell, still eating away at them as they screamed in pain and terror. Along with them came the swirls of darkness, of evil, of cruelty, of hate; some marred by mere streaks and cracks, barely there, while others had been consumed, clutched in unrelenting claws.

The new god, as he had declared himself, had lived his life as if he were a drowning man; the experiences that coloured his world were murky and blurred, like the images seen through the surface of a rippling pond. He was aware of what he was doing, oh so aware, yet it all seemed so distant, so distorted; he was there, yet he was not.

As death surrounded him and trailed in the wake of his destructive ways, he was never empty of power, empty of souls. Some of them were innocent, pure, but most deserved the fate that awaited them as Castiel passed judgment and rained punishment down on those who dared rebel against his commandments, on those who dared to dance with the darker powers.

Then, it all came to a grinding stop.

This soul, a new one to his collection, this one was different. It didn't struggle as Castiel closed in on it, preparing to consume it. It didn't rage and rail against the former angel; instead, it was gentle and calm, magnetic as it curled around the fragments of Castiel's grace, fragments that Castiel thought had been lost forever from him, hidden by the power of the souls. Unlike the others, which were bitter and burning because they were not meant to be in his body, this soul was soothing, filling in the cracks in Castiel's grace like honeyed water. Unlike the others that had been forcibly taken, this soul had been willingly given.

Then, came the memories.

Of him, of Castiel, when he first landed on earth inside Jimmy Novak's body; Castiel saw himself, commanding and magnificent, an angel of the lord standing amidst crackling, flashing lights.

_He knew this soul._

He saw himself, eyes of electric blue, first cold as ice, unfeeling, but as time passed, the frosty colour thawed, and soon those blue orbs were as warm as the sky on a bright sunny day.

_He knew it like it was his own; he could feel his mark on it._

Always he saw himself, sometimes powerful and mighty, sometimes vulnerable and fragile, sometimes cold and unyielding, sometimes devoted and faithful, sometimes victorious, sometimes defeated, sometimes angel, sometimes human; he saw himself.

_The soul knew him too; he could feel its mark on his grace._

And, he felt them, the emotions that came with every piece of memory. Betrayal. Desperation. Anguish. Terror. Worry. Resentment. Guilt. Happiness. Contentment. Peace. Hope. Want. Need. Love. Forgiveness. Acceptance.

_He could feel its mark on him._

Always acceptance.

No matter what he was, angel or human, sullied by time and experience or pure in the glow of his grace, no matter the emotion, the ones that made his grace ache and twist or the ones that filled his wings with the lightness of flight, there was always the sense of familiarity, of comfort.

Of belonging.

'_Cas, please, I don't want to lose you.'_

And suddenly, the surface of the pool no longer rippled. Suddenly, the distortion faded, and the edges of the world sharpened, almost hurtful in its clarity.

'_Don't make me lose you.'_

Suddenly, Castiel was there; an explosion of light as his grace burst forth, expelling the souls that were never meant to be in him, the sources of clawing, invasive, insidious power that had overwhelmed his senses. Finally, only one soul remained.

He knew that soul.

'Dean.'

_Somewhere, fittingly enough, under a broken stained glass window, amidst the shattered fragments of red, green and blue that littered the ground, an angel fell to his knees and placed his hand over a scar on a human's shoulder. Blue eyes, unclouded for the first time in months, watched as the glow of life was restored to a lifeless body; never faltering, never flickering, ever watchful as hazel green eyes fluttered open. _


End file.
